


give me your tomorrow

by Hokuto



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Pre-Canon, Pre-Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 01:50:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7994239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hokuto/pseuds/Hokuto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ifalna survives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	give me your tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Masu_Trout](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masu_Trout/gifts).



The materia was new, which was the only way Elmyra could have noticed it: a little glint of light through the grimy store window caught her eye on the way to the train station.

She stopped to get a better look. The rest of the window display was nearly invisible, with the layer of dust on lumps that were probably other materia and the smudges on the metal-laced glass, but the polished green ball shone out clear and bright. So did the hand-scribbled card beside it, which read _"Cure" BRAND NEW!!! Ask Abt Our "1st-Time" Costumer Discount!!!_

She went on to the station without going inside. She'd been saving any extra gil she could get since Luke had written her about applying for leave, so she could put together a decent spread for him when he got home. Nothing left over to spare for materia, which she didn't even know how to use, really, and anyway the Shinra army ought to have plenty of materia themselves, even the parts that weren't those fancy SOLDIERS. No need for her to waste money on such a thing–but maybe Shinra didn't spare materia for anyone _but_ the SOLDIERS. Maybe Luke would came back to her with one eye gone like Jin Harko who sold papers at the station, or missing half his arm like Mr. Biggs down the road, or scars all over, and she'd need that Cure materia after all, need it to smooth out scars little by little or fix up a limp...

She turned it over in her mind, that little green ball, for two or three days as she went back and forth between home and station, and in the end she probably would have let it lie to gather dust if the regular train conductor hadn't pressed twenty gil into her hand one evening.

"If I had a pretty lady like you waitin' for me at the end of the line," he said, "well–I reckon I wouldn't make her wait so long."

His crooked smile meant to be roguish, but on his narrow and wrinkled face, it was only sad, and he was gone so fast after that she had to shout her thank-you at the departing train. She never did see him again to ask what he intended with that gift; she supposed he might have retired, or transferred to work on another line that didn't stop at her station. Whatever its purpose, she took the twenty gil home and counted it up with what she'd been saving, and the very next day she went into the materia shop to ask about first-time customer discounts.

Using the Cure materia was simple enough, but it didn't come too naturally to Elmyra. She kept at it anyway: practicing whenever she got a scrape or bruise until she could make them vanish, fixing up an old bracelet of hers to fit the materia so she could wear it as much as possible and help it grow strong, like the excited girl at the shop had told her. Soon enough she got to be more comfortable with it, and it became a comfort to her. Its soft glow went everywhere with her, never dimming or going out, like a little green moon shining to light her way.

Lucky that she'd seen it in the window. Lucky that the train conductor had somehow been sweet on her. Lucky that she followed the shop girl's advice. Lucky, lucky, lucky, that was all she could think as she knelt over the collapsed woman on the station's steps with the little girl crying at her side, as she cast Cure over and over until the woman could stand and lean on her, until they could all stagger safely home.

Lucky.

* * *

She burned.

Fire raced through her, burning her fingers, burning her eyelids and ears, burning her throat as she breathed and choking her with hot ash, a bonfire ablaze where poison-tipped claws had ripped under her ribs, burning, burning, burning.

Daughter of the Ancients, daughter of water and Lifestream, she called on them for aid (but in silence, silence, spirit and not voice, or _he_ might discover them), begging for the mercy of ice on her skin and the blessing of cool water in her blood, anything that could drown the fire. No answer, again and again no answer. Even from her own daughter, no answer, and she struggled to reach through the flames and find her: _Aerith! Aerith, stay close–stay with me, stay safe–_

A light cold touch against her lips, a taste of bitter liquid on her tongue; she swallowed, and the fire began to die down, dimming into embers and coals. At last she could breathe, could sense the glow of artificial light above her, could hear strange murmuring voices in low tones.

Someone laid a damp, rough cloth across her fever-heated forehead. A moment later, a damp, cool hand took her own, and she realized one of the voices was speaking to her.

"–ssh, it's all right, miss, don't move. You're going to be all right. You're safe here, you and your little girl both, you're safe. It's going to hurt some while Dyna is fixing up that awful hole in your side, but it's going to get better after that, so please hang in there. Ssh, ssh, you're going to be fine, just fine. Your little girl's been sticking close so don't you worry about her, she's just having a bite to eat right now. You're both safe here, I promise, and you're going to be all right. Ssh, ssh..."

Safe. She had thought herself safe in the north, and oh, how wrong she'd been, how she had paid for that trust in loss and the salt of blood and tears. She would never be safe. Aerith would never be safe. Not while that man hungered for power he would never understand or deserve.

But the hand holding hers was so cool, quelling the fire that still ate at her. So strong and sure, calloused from work but gentle. And she was so tired from struggling with the poisoned flames, from running and hiding as fear clung to her back. So tired. If only the voice was right and she could sleep a little, safe, her and Aerith, safe for a little while.

Safe...

* * *

Once the woman was asleep, Elmyra saw Dyna to the door with a basket holding a loaf of bread and two good dresses Elmyra didn't wear much anymore. "I'd walk you home," she said, "but with the little girl–"

"No, it's best you stay with both of them," Dyna said, waving her off. "I'm not that far down the road. Don't forget to measure out that antidote like I told you, and hold onto that ether I gave you unless it's an emergency–it's not Cure that lady needs now, it's the antidote and good sleep and good food." She shifted the basket in her arms and gave Elmyra a piercing look. "You take care of yourself, too."

"You can't think a hurt woman and a little girl are dangerous?"

"Not them, but whatever went after them." Dyna sighed. "Don't misunderstand me, you did a good thing taking them in, but that wound–well, I just don't want to be patching you up, too."

"Thank you for your concern," Elmyra said, a little colder than she meant to, "but I know how to handle myself. And once Luke's back–he's not going to mind, I promise you that."

"All right, all right... Mind the antidote, and I'll see you again come baking day."

When Elmyra went back into the living room, the little girl was curled up beside the sofa, her head pillowed against her mama's shoulder and her eyes half closed. She started up when she saw Elmyra, but Elmyra smiled at her and said softly, "It's all right, honey, you can stay there if you want. It's been a rough day for you, hasn't it?"

The little girl nodded solemnly, then said, "Mama is going to be all right now."

"Yes, I think she is," Elmyra said, a little taken aback by the girl's certainty. "She's going to need a lot of rest and quiet, though."

"I know. I can be good, promise."

Poor little thing. Elmyra patted her head and looked closely at the sleeping woman to judge her condition. The woman's face was still flushed with fever, but not so red as earlier, nor so drawn with pain, and her breathing had eased slightly. She would be pretty if she were well: clear skin, fine-boned features, a wide mouth meant to smile, all framed by loose chestnut curls...

Elmyra reached down and brushed a lock of hair out of the woman's face, and the little girl said, "When Mama wakes up, do we have to leave?"

"Oh, honey, of course not!" Elmyra took a deep breath and softened her voice before she continued. "It's up to your mama what the two of you do, I guess, but neither of you have to leave on my account." Luke _wouldn't_ mind, she told herself firmly; hadn't she caught him feeding stray animals often enough? He had a soft heart for hard-luck cases, her Luke. He'd understand.

She sat down on the floor next to the little girl. "You know, I don't think we ever introduced ourselves in all that fuss," she said, and she held out her hand. "My name's Elmyra–what about you?"

The girl looked up at her mama for a moment, and then she reached out and shook Elmyra's hand with surprising strength. "I'm Aerith!"

"That's a pretty name," Elmyra said, and the little girl–Aerith–rewarded her with a small, brilliant smile.

* * *

Three times more she tasted bitterness. Each time the poisonous fire weakened further, swept away by a wave of cool water; at the fourth time, the embers had become nothing but ash, and the bitter taste transformed into a sweetness that gave her strength to open her eyes.

Above her hovered a woman's broad, kind face, which said in a half-remembered voice, "Oh, good morning! Well–good evening, is what I ought to have said. You've been asleep for quite a while–no, that's good! You needed the rest, don't get up."

Her throat ached still from the fire; she whispered, "My daughter–"

"She's right here, don't you worry. She wouldn't even sleep upstairs in the spare room last night, I made her up a little nest by the sofa so she could stay with you."

She turned her head slowly, cautiously, and Aerith looked back at her over the top of a sandwich and waved with one free hand.

"I haven't had a chance to cook a proper supper for any of us, with all that's been going on," the woman said, "and I had to go out this afternoon and work, but I can whip you up something quick if you're hungry."

"No," she said, though a hollowness gnawed in her stomach. "Dangerous. We need to leave..."

"You're neither of you going anywhere until _you're_ well," the woman said. "It's rough here, under the Plate, and I'd never forgive myself if you left too soon and something happened to you. Whatever it is you two are running from–you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but nobody who'd hunt after a little girl and her mama is any friend of mine, that's for certain. You're safe here, for as long as you want to stay."

The same generous words as before, a promise she wanted so badly to believe in, and she let her eyes close again. In the quiet dark came voices, voices flowing through the Lifestream that she'd feared she would never hear again. _She's right. Stay here. Stay here, you're safe for now. Listen to her. Stay. It's all right._

And the voice she had longed to hear most in all the world: _I've been watching her, my darlings. Stay here. You'll be safe._

"We'll stay," she said, and felt the woman's hand soft on her shoulder.

"Then I'm going to go make some soup, for when you're ready to eat," the woman said. "You just rest up for now."

* * *

It surprised Elmyra how fast she got used to having company in the house again. With her mama awake again, Aerith's reserve had vanished faster than a gil dropped in the street; if she wasn't jumping to help with chores, she was out exploring the neighborhood with Dyna's girl Ellie and bringing back all kinds of little treasures she'd found. Elmyra had gone digging in the attic and found an old toy staff of Luke's so Aerith wasn't going out unprotected, and Aerith was as quick and eager to learn how to use it as she was with learning how to cook and where the best places for hide-and-seek were.

Her mama–who, over soup, had said her name was Ifalna–was slower to recover than Elmyra would have liked, favoring her injured side, and quieter than her daughter. She did her best to help around the house, anyway, though she often had to stop and rest. Still, between her and Aerith, Elmyra's days at home were easier and livelier. And when she went out to the train station to wait, or looking for cleaning work to bring in a little extra gil, she no longer came home to a dark, silent house, but to warm lights, Aerith's energetic stories, Ifalna in the kitchen laying out ingredients and ready to help with the cooking...

Well, it made for a pleasant change, that was all. A comfort, like the Cure she still wore on her wrist.

She was wrapping up a sandwich to take with her to the train station one morning when Ifalna came downstairs from the spare room and said, "If you don't mind, I'd like it if Aerith and I could come with you today."

"Are you sure?" Elmyra said. "You're still recovering..." And there was still the shadow of whatever had injured Ifalna in the first place, the shadow of the hunters neither she nor Aerith would name.

"I'm sure. I'm feeling much better this morning, and a little fresh air would help even more, I think."

She did look better, Elmyra had to admit: no feverish redness in her cheeks, and no pallor like when she'd over-strained herself the other day. "Well, all right. But if you get tired, you go home right away, you hear?"

"I understand."

Aerith poked her head in from the living room and said, "Is it because–"

"Not now, Aerith," Ifalna said. "Go put your shoes on."

"Okay!"

It was pleasant to have company at the station, too, Elmyra decided once they'd gotten there. Ifalna might not be especially chatty, but Aerith was excited to visit the station again without all the trouble of before. She kept darting off to look at some new thing that had caught her eye, then returning to ask Ifalna or Elmyra about it, and the trains themselves fascinated her, big and noisy as they were. When the latest one came in, she ran right up to get a closer look at it, exclaiming at its shining bronze grill.

Ifalna was starting to look a bit peaky from the walk and standing so long, and Elmyra said, "Why don't we sit down for a bit? My feet could stand to take a break."

Ifalna nodded; without thinking, Elmyra offered her arm for Ifalna to lean on, and when Ifalna took it as naturally as breathing, Elmyra felt her cheeks heat up, thinking of how they must look. Pure foolishness. She just didn't want Ifalna to stumble, if she was feeling poorly. As they sat together on the lone, dusty bench, Ifalna didn't take her hand from Elmyra's arm, and somehow Elmyra didn't feel a need to ask her to remove it.

They only had a minute or so of peacefulness to themselves before Aerith came running back and ducked behind the bench. Someone in a Shinra trooper's uniform was following behind her, and Elmyra started to get up before she could see it wasn't Luke but some young man with short red hair, holding a letter.

Ifalna's hand tensed slightly before the young man said, "Excuse me, ma'am, are you Elmyra Gainsborough?"

"Yes, that's me." Suddenly the station's artificial lights seemed too bright and too hot, the air too dry and scratchy in her throat.

He took a deep breath and said, "Ma'am, I regret to inform you that–"

"No," she said, "no, no, no, he's taking leave, he's supposed to be on leave, he can't, he's on _leave_ and he's coming home–" Not Luke. He'd written her. He'd promised he was coming home as soon as his leave came through. He was coming home. It couldn't be. 

The young man tried to keep talking, but his words couldn't make it through the heated buzzing in Elmyra's ears, and after a moment he gave up and pressed the letter into her shaking hands, then walked away.

She couldn't open it. The envelope crumpled without tearing, the noise of it all she could hear, and she crumpled too, curling into herself. Not crying, because it wasn't true, it couldn't be true, he was getting leave, but her breathing was hard and fast and painful and the letter, the terrible, treacherous letter was still in her hands...

Then Ifalna's arms circled her shoulders, and her soft voice cut through the awful panicked buzz: "We shouldn't stay here. Let's go home."

Elmyra knew the way between the station and home like she knew the backs of her hands, her mother's recipe for stew, how to avoid the creakiest steps on the staircase. She saw nothing of the familiar route that day, leaning on Ifalna as if she were the wounded one and letting Aerith's warm little hand in hers lead them back, her eyes blinded by tears that wouldn't yet fall and her head still pounding with _no, no, no, it can't be true, it can't be, he's supposed to come home, no, no, no_... And something else, underneath, just a whisper of a suspicion.

At home, Ifalna helped Elmyra to the sofa and sat next to her, saying quietly, "Aerith, why don't you go outside and play with Ellie for a little while?"

"I don't feel like playing," Aerith said, and she clutched Elmyra's hand a little tighter. "I can stay."

"That's kind of you," Ifalna said, "but Elmyra and I have some things to talk about, I think. If you don't want to play, could you go upstairs and read?"

"I guess..." Aerith hesitated, then flung her arms around Elmyra and hugged her before running up the stairs.

For a few moments Ifalna and Elmyra had silence; Elmyra watched Ifalna fold her hands in her lap and close her eyes, breathing slowly, her head cocked slightly as if she were listening to someone else speaking from another room. Come to think of it, she'd often seen Ifalna like that, and sometimes Aerith. Just a little quirk of theirs, she'd thought. Their ears were probably better than hers, she'd thought.

"You knew," she said.

"Yes," said Ifalna, solemn and calm as ever.

"Even before we left this morning, you knew. That's why you wanted to come, even if it ended up being a danger to you two."

"Yes."

Elmyra bent over the unopened letter still crumpled in her right hand. "How did you know?" and her voice cracked like a dropped bowl. "You can't _know_ , you can't be sure, he could still–it could be a mix-up, that's all, how can you _know_?"

Ifalna rested one hand on her back and said, gently, "It's a long story. And a complicated one."

"Just tell me, please!" She was owed that much, wasn't she? Any other time she'd never think of it like that, but she ached with grief and fear and oh, all she wanted was one answer.

"Elmyra–have you heard the legend of the Cetra?"

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "If I Were a Carpenter."


End file.
